


The Legit Boss

by RobinTrigue



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Enemies to Enemies to Enemies, Gen, Sasha Banks being the best ever, dream feud, in which Vince is brought low by the matriarchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8013505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinTrigue/pseuds/RobinTrigue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>Young lady</em>,” says Heyman, voice smooth with condescension. “Can’t you see we’re <em>trying</em> to cut a promo here? You can go play beauty parlour someplace else.”</p><p>There’s a pause as Sasha visibly switches her internal settings from ‘stun’ to ‘kill.’ She turns slowly. “<em>Excuse me?</em>” she says. If Brock and Paul had any sense, they would run.</p><p>(In which Sasha Banks proves why she is unequivocally the Boss of the WWE.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Legit Boss

It starts backstage with Paul Heyman, oily hair tied back into an ever-shrinking ponytail, cutting a promo. Brock Lesnar stands at his shoulder, like some hulking, gladiatorial mercenary carved out of pale marble. There’s a sheen of sweat on his meaty face. Paul leers at the camera, lifting the microphone to his lips.

“My _client_ , Brrrrock Lesssnar, has once again done what he set out to do. He has once again _proved_ that he is a _master_ of the art of _destruction_ , an unparalleled-”

He stops, mouth slightly agape, because Sasha Banks has just walked in front of the camera without even seeming to notice. Her outfit is amazing and she’s blowing gently on her perfect nails to dry them.

“Excuse me, _young lady_ ,” says Paul, voice smooth with condescension. “Can’t you see we’re _trying_ to cut a promo here? You can go play beauty parlour someplace else.”

There’s a pause as Sasha visibly switches her internal settings from ‘stun’ to ‘kill.’ She turns slowly. “ _Excuse me?_ ” she says slowly. If they had any sense, they would run.

“By all means, you’re excused,” Paul says instead. “Or do you not realise you’re interrupting me, Paul Heyman, the _Advocate_ of none other than the Beast himself. I hold in my hands the _reigns_ of an unstoppable _monster_ who could crush _any little bug_ that gets in his path. So if I were you I’d hurry along and let us get on with our work.”

Sasha raises herself up to her full five feet, five inches, taking a couple steps forward until she’s right in Heyman’s face. “I don’t know who you _think_ you are, little man, but I am the _Boss_ around here. You should get down on your knees and apologise for getting in _my_ way.”

“How _dare_ you, I am the _manager_ of-”

“I _made_ the careers of _half_ of the women’s division! The divas revolution wouldn’t have _existed_ without me! You think your ‘beast’ is going to scare me? Bring it on!”

Paul scoffed. “You _must_ be joking.”

Sasha leans in further, so close to Heyman’s face that he actually has to lean back, bumping into Brock. “ _Bring. It. On._ ”

—–

Paul Heyman doesn’t. Maybe he’s scared, maybe he simply didn’t take her threat seriously. But Sasha Banks doesn’t forget his slight. When the Beast and his Advocate are doing an in-ring promo for Brock’s upcoming PPV match against Cena, Sasha is there, first upstaging them on the mic and then attacking like a wildcat, forcing the pair to flee in surprise. Then Brock is sent to outside interfere with one of her matches. Things escalate. Tension builds.

“Listen, I know it’s unorthodox this late in the planning,” says Stephanie at a board meeting, “but there’s no point to the Cena-Lesnar fight anymore. John’s pulling his weight with the media and all, but Heyman’s been so caught up in this thing with Sasha, it’s like he’s forgotten his client is even scheduled for a match! We’re going to have to drop it.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting that jerk make decisions for us,” says Vince, rolling his eyes. “He thinks he’s so dangerous because he’s got one big gun in his arsenal, screw him! I say we fight back, make him take the matches he’s given, or else we’ll stick all of our best wrestlers on his ass.”

“What if we swapped their opponents?” suggests Hunter diplomatically. “Becky might be an interesting match for John, and Sasha… it’s what the WWE universe wants.”

“Do you think she’d go for it?” asks Stephanie. The room shrugs. There is only one way to find out.

—–

“No,” says Sasha, voice clear as a ring bell.

“No? But Sasha, you’ve been saying for weeks that all you wanted was a chance to get in the ring with -”

“Not with Brock,” she says. “I want them both. Lesnar _and_ Heyman. I eliminate Brock, and the other one will just get a new client and keep disrespecting me. It is my _responsibility_ as the baddest on the roster to put them both in their place: at the bottom of the heap.”

Hunter rubs his neck. “The chance to fight a manager isn’t something we usually…”

“You did it for Punk,” says Sasha, crossing her arms. Punk lost, of course, but Punk wasn’t _her_.

“That wasn’t a WWE decision, it was the result of an audience vote,” Hunter points out, feeling increasingly in over his head. “Management can’t just-”

“Oh, should I go ask the audience?” she threatens, taking a step towards the sounds of the cheering crowd out front. Hunter lunges to stop her; it was a threat she could make good on, and an issue where she would definitely have audeince support, damnit. The closest he can come to saving face is to not let this negotiation happen during a filming.

“Fine, I’ll _try_ to attange it,” he grumbles. “Next PPV, you in a two-on-one handicap.”

“You’ll _do_ it, or else _I will_.”

—–

The next PPV happens, and it’s fucking brutal. Sasha Banks F-5′s Brock Lesnar through the ring. She takes Paul Heyman to Suplex City. Brock taps out to the Banks Statement. Completely annihilated. They leave town with their tails between their legs. Sasha Banks is undisputed Boss of the WWE, most powerful figure in wrestling.

—–

Cut to: two years later, a slightly shadowy back room. Sasha is sitting with her boots on the desk. Vince McMahon is grovelling, head hanging low.

“Please, Ms Banks,” he begs. “Please. I understand, of course, that Charlotte versus Nia has to main event Wrestlemania, since it’s the Heavyweight title match. And yes, of course, Carmella and Bayley are the obvious contenders for Alexa and Asuka’s tag belts, you’re right. But won’t you even consider letting Randy Orton challenge Ember Moon for the Intercontinental championship? The men’s division has been working so hard recently, even despite all the attacks-”

“All the what?” asks Sasha.

“All the, erm, interventions, by Ms Brooks and-”

“Well I can’t see what those have to do with me,” Sasha purrs. “Dana and Nattie are rogue agents. We’ve been over this before; me and my girls have no problem whatsoever with the men’s division having matches from time to time. I don’t know _what_ would lead _anyone_ to suggest otherwise.”

“Of course, your legitness,” says Vince, nodding frantically. “But - Randy Orton? We’re willing to do anything.”

Sasha adjusts her slotted glasses pensively. “An Ambrose-Rollins match,” she says finally. Vince perks up; he hadn’t been expecting to hear that. “ _But,_ ” Sasha continues, holding a finger in the air. “They fight shirtless. Trunks only, at least a size too small. And hmm, what do you think, maybe a pool full of gravy? Or would jelly be better?”

From behind her, Becky Lynch nods, arms crossed. Her face is intimidatingly gory, stitches still healing from her recent cage match with Demon Kane. “Jelly, definitely.”

Sasha smiles at her, then turns back to the founder of the company, peering at him over the tips of her pink-and-white boots. His leathery face is blanched in horror.

“Please,” he whispers. “I’ve - I’ve apologised for my sins, please, these are talented athletes, you can’t just-”

Sasha clicks her tongue sadly. “I suppose you’re not willing to do _anything_ after all,” she says. “Hey, Vince, don’t worry about it. We’ll see how the event goes; maybe Randy will be able to challenge Billie for a number one contenders spot at the next live show, if he proves himself. Babe?”

The door swings open, bathing the dark room in the bright light from the hallway as Bayley bounces in. “Yes, Sasha?”

“Show Vince out, would you sweetie?”

“Of course! Right this way, Mr McMahon! It’s really nice to see you again!”

“But there was more I wanted to-”

“Oh no, I’m really sorry,” says Bayley with a smile. “I really can’t help you with that, Sasha said it’s my job to show you out. I’m sure she’d love to make another appointment with you later if you wanted to talk more! She’s really cool like that.”

Vince sighs, head in his hands. He’s not sure how the company came to this. As he retreats down the corridor, he’s surprised to hear Bayley call after him.

“Mr McMahon!” she says with a smile, and hugs him. “I just wanted to say, Mella and I think it’s really super duper nice of you to book us for the tag match at Wrestlemania instead of the Club! We’re both really, really excited, and we’re going to do our very best!”

Vince blinks back a tear, exhausted, and pats her on the head. “Don’t thank me,” he says, “it was the least I could do.”

**Author's Note:**

> And so Sasha Banks proceeded to rule the WWE with her army of girlfriends.
> 
> (No one asked me to type out my ideal feud, but I did it anyway. I think about this headcanon basically every day.)


End file.
